


Softly

by NoMercy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Cookies, Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier Friendship, Daryl likes the cookies, Drabble, Gen, Mentions of Sophia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMercy/pseuds/NoMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol makes another batch of cookies for Daryl, and can't help but reminisce a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softly

 

 

The cookies aren't even baking yet, but already, Carol can smell them.

 

“I always made these whenever Ed went out of town on one of his ‘man trips’,” she confides quietly, adding some more chocolate to the bowl. Beside her, Daryl doesn’t say anything, quiet as he ever is whenever Ed comes into a conversation. “I had to bake with all the windows open so the smell wouldn’t stick around, and it always made the kitchen unbearably hot, but … they were Sophia’s favorite. She’d start asking for them within hours of Ed leaving, and I could never say no to her. Never wanted to, with how often Ed said it to her. We’d bake them together.”

 

Daryl flinches like an abused animal expecting a strike at the mention of her little girl, leaning away a little. She understands - the name, the image, hurts. But the cookies, of all the damn things, are changing the picture right now.

 

“Ya don’ hafta make’m if ya don’ wanna-,” he starts lowly, sounding wounded, but she checks him with her hip quickly, silencing the rest of his protest.

 

“I do want to,” she says firmly, smile still freely in place. “You, Pookie, I never mind making anything for. Besides. I think Sophia would love that you like these cookies so much.”

 

Daryl scoffs at that, uncomfortable with such notions as he always is. But he does shift back to his original place next to her, a nonverbal apology mixed with acceptance.

 

 _‘She’d probably make you four dozen herself, if she were still here,’_ she doesn’t say. Sophia is the missing piece of her heart, the gaping hole in her chest that never stops bleeding, the fissure in her mind that reminds her how broken this world has always been. But Daryl is Sophia’s Atlas, a weight he’s carried across his shoulders since the day she disappeared and still hasn’t let go of.

 

Instead, she reaches for his hand, grabbing it before he can pull away again and flipping it over. She takes the scoop of dough she has already in the spoon and plops it into his palm, and can’t bite back the giggle she gets at the bewildered look she gets in return.

 

“Her favorite part of baking was sneaking the dough when she thought I wasn’t looking,” she explains, releasing him so that she can grab the waiting cookie sheet.

 

She pretends not to notice as he slowly eats it.


End file.
